


Mariposa

by Pjupejj



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: AU where Talon doesnt exist anymore, Blood, Choking, Depression, F/M, Female Reader, Hurt/Comfort, OCs Mentioned - Freeform, Rough Sex, Slow Burn, Suicide Attempt, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-29
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-09-20 18:05:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9504212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pjupejj/pseuds/Pjupejj
Summary: You’ve become Reaper’s amusement, just as your lovesick self always wanted. He saw something in you which makes him unable to get rid of you, although it means being his biggest weakness. Soon others will start noticing his attachment too, which will get you both in trouble.Yet you don’t know who you should fear more – him or his enemies.Depressive, dark, violent, lovey-fuckey work in two parts.*From the story:“Fuck!”You vomit. Your eyes are burning when you open them. Your head rests on Reaper’s chest, but before you could realize it he pushes you away. He’s kneeling in front of you, holding you with one hand and lifting your head with the other, so you can breathe.“What the fuck were you doing?!” Reaper shouts at you. Your whole body is trembling, and not just from the cold. “Can’t I even leave you alone for a goddamn minute?” He rages. You stare at him numbly, quietly. “I should’ve let you die” hisses Reaper from beneath the bone mask. He stands up, takes a few steps away from you. He leaves you there naked, scared under his coat, with the door shutting behind him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I only started this story to write about Reaper eating the reader out. Spoiler: this is the only thing that hasn't happened yet, but (I think) other interesting and eventful stuff did. Have fun reading :^)
> 
> This is also a translation of an originally Hungarian work of mine, translated by HalloVinny, who says the following:  
> I'm no professional translation so sorry if anything sounds weird :p

**First part**

_“We can’t love ourselves_

_And can’t believe that others love us”_

 

_Endre Ady: Somebody has set off from us (Valaki útravált belőlünk)_

 

* * *

 

You started talking to the shadows. At first you mumbled just a few words into the empty room, then you were almost chatting with the darkness. You told everything, because you believed that he’s listening. Maybe right now, too.

You smiled at the blurry corner in the bathroom. You got used to not turning on the lights, igniting a few candles instead. It covered your face in golden light and left everything else completely dark.

Tingling pleasure struck you from the thought of Reaper staring at you from somewhere.

You made up dialogues in your head, then said your thoughts aloud too. You were laying in the bathtub, foam embracing your body, and you kept smiling at the black nothingness billowing in front of your eyes.

Now you’re laying in your room, blinking at the dusk with half-lidded eyes. Light shines in from between the drapery, drawing red and gold lines along the floor. Only the shadows following it reach your bed – you’re staring at the darkening corners before you, completely mesmerized. You’re hugging your pillow like how the grainy, shadow-like blue mist is covering you, and keep whispering, calling for Reaper.

“I want to see you” you say for the hundredth time. “Kill me or kiss me, it doesn’t matter.” You’re panting and hide your face in the pillow. Your arm is covered with fresh cuts, yet you barely feel the pain. “I just… want to be touched by death.”

_Too beautiful._

The sentence echoes in your head. Reaper is too beautiful, not matter how much it – and what he did to you – hurt. A single bruise was left on your neck by his fingers when he grabbed your throat. Sometimes you squeeze it like a maniac to make the bruise remain, but it has already started fading. You know you can’t preserve his touch forever – at least not tangibly.

You let go of the pillow as you turn to your side. You’re curled up on the sheets, still staring at the shadows, though less intensively. Holding onto your shoulders you hug yourself defensively, because the loneliness frightens you. That’s why you like to think that you’re not alone.

Reaper’s presence is floating around you. You’re looking for him in every smoke cloud and fleeting shadow. You took his promise seriously – that he didn’t kill you yet. That he’ll come for you and end you for real.

Just thinking about what he’s going to do makes you shiver. It’s only a fragment of what he could desire and be capable of, but you love it. You’re reliving the endless half an hour when he pressed you against the bed, caressing your stomach with his claws. Copying his movements, you’re slowly drawing your hand along your neck and collarbones. Your fingers disappear under your shirt.

You’re stroking your shoulder with closed eyes, then return your hand to your breast. You pull up your bra with one hand, continue the fondling with the other while trying to breath steadily. Forcing yourself to make slow and calm movements, you try to become your killer for a few minutes. You grab your breast, nails tearing the skin, but the pain’s just not enough – it feels ticklish, yet you’re panting from it.

Your nipple becomes hard when one of your hands reaches under your shirt. You draw circles on your stomach, and the fact that you’re trembling from your own touch almost makes you laugh. You continue stroking your breast even when your fingers are already touching your side. Grabbing your hip, you press yourself to the mattress for a minute, thinking about how Reaper could be the one doing this to you. Moreover, how good it would be if it was him.

You’re wearing shorts – you didn’t fully change your pajamas. Your hand feels like it belongs to someone else, timidly playing with the edge of your shorts before finding its way under it. You twitch and try to stay calm. Not even touching your underwear, you place your hand on your thigh instead, gripping your skin and releasing it. Your body starts to become hot, your face flustered, as if you had a fever. Your nails suddenly tear into your thigh, you want pain that brings pleasure as well.

You tilt your head backwards, panting with an open mouth when you stop resisting the urge and touch yourself between the legs. Your panties are already wet when you touch them, but don’t mind it in the slightest. You’re rubbing your clit through the thin fabric, even though you’d rather tear it off – or have Reaper do it, with the underwear ending up in pieces somewhere next to the bed.

The muscles in your arm become tense from the pleasure, your wounds start to ache. You bite your mouth, trying not to care about the pain and continue stroking yourself. You press your finger harder to your clit, even feeling your pelvis now.

Your mouth becomes dry while you get even wetter, and as you’re catching your breath, his name slips through your lips.

“Gabe”

You feel dirty, but can’t hold back the sigh that came out with his name. You squeeze your eyes shut, pinch your breast and keep stroking your clit in circles.

“Gabe…”

You’re even louder than before, but the voice doesn’t feel like your own. You drift further away from your body, mustering the woman squirming on the bed under the late Gabriel Reyes.

”I told you not to call me that again.”

You become numb, your body falls back on the sheets. Your hand is under your clothes, only your eyes shut open. Completely defenseless, you glance in the direction the voice came from, with your arms around yourself. 

The light hurts your eyes, the sight of smoke makes you suffocate. Shadows are swirling around, the furniture is moving, then everything stops – but there is clearly something in front of you. Blurry spots are taking shape and becoming whole within your reach.

The floor creaks beneath the reinforced boots when Reaper appears in your room. As if the puddle of shadow near the wardrobe melted away then froze again, only to become a real, living being before you. You can barely perceive it, although you’ve been waiting for him. Reaper’s bone-mask is cream colored, red spots glowing in the depths of the dark eye sockets.

Reaper takes a step towards you which snaps you of the numbness. You finally feel strong enough to move. Releasing your breast, you try drawing your hand out of your pants, but unable to turn away from him.

”Don’t move” he orders. You’re confused, so no matter how much you want to obey him, you keep pulling your hand out.

Reaper grabs your wrist.

”Are you deaf?” You barely understand his muffled voice.

You’re breathing heavily. The touch of his gloves feels like an electric shock.

”Did you watch it?” You’re panting. Your gaze meets the red glow.

”No.” Reaper is quiet for a few seconds, which feels like minutes for you. “I don’t care about what you do with yourself.”

As he says this, his arm moves. His claws tear into open wounds. You hiss and turn away, but the pain sitting on your face still gives you away. Reaper draws your arm up, finally pulling it out of your pants and holds it in front of his face. You can’t see it, but know that he’s examining the fresh cuts.

”Mariposa,” he says, “you’re more entertaining than I thought.” You’re trembling from his voice, while thinking. You have no idea what he just called you. “If you want pain, I’ll grant it. I’ll cut you out of this cocoon really slowly.” Reaper doesn’t squeeze you, just pushes his claws deeper into your skin. You cry out, then shut your mouth immediately.

“I want it” you whisper when you’re able to control yourself. Tears start to fill your eyes and you’re hoping that Reaper can’t fully see your face.

”It doesn’t matter” he replies just as quietly. “I want your begging first, little girl. To hear you scream no matter what I do with you.”

”I’m not screaming now.” you say with difficulty. Your arm relaxes in his hand.

Reaper bends over you, holding your right hand against the bed. Your heart races from his closeness; you start to think that he can hear the beating between your ribs. You’re waiting for him to kneel over you, like last time, to grab your throat, to hold his gun against your head. You’ve imagined everything, except him sitting next to you and pushing you down with only the weight of his glove.

”I’ll make you.” As if he heard your thoughts from a moment ago, he yanks your pants down. He pulls it just to your knees, binding your legs as well, and continues what you stopped: he starts stroking your clit – gently, but still violently because of the claws.

You’re squirming on the bed, when Reaper presses your hip instead of your arm against the mattress. He doesn’t let you move, even though you’d move away only to grind against his fingers seconds later, completely losing control of both your body and mind.

At this point not just your panties, but your thighs are wet too. The cold fabric sticks tightly to you, but you feel hot. You’re trying to speak, shamelessly beg for Reaper to throw his glove away and bury himself in you – or even with his claws on, you’re so desperate you wouldn’t really care -, but he’s still playing with your clit. He's stroking you more intensively, as if he wanted to do it until you start screaming from the feeling, and pushes you back on the bed when you try to lift your hip to get closer to him.

He’s teasing you on purpose – crosses your mind. You’re panting with an open mouth and trembling. Your legs are shaking, your knees touch. Reaper’s hand gets stuck between your thighs when closing your legs, but your ass doesn’t move.

Your stomach gets stiff, a sigh escapes your lips. All your strength starts to leave your body, but you manage to sit up and fall on Reaper’s shoulder afterwards. You’re clinging to his arm; he’s holding your hip with one of them, and grabs, then pulls your panties up with the other. It’s pressed to your clit, causing a painfully good feeling to your body, which is already at its breaking point. Reaper is almost not even touching, only torturing you with your leftover clothes – yet you’re trembling while holding onto him, and when he twists the fabric you cry out, biting into his shoulder.

The mixture of touches, scents and sounds makes you too sensitive. Reaper’s quiet, almost non-existent breath, his muscles tensing up under your body, his talons, becoming hot because of you, are all pushing you to the edge. You’re holding onto him as if you were about to disappear from this world, gripping his clothes as a light touch makes you finally come.

You can’t hold back your voice; first you moan, then start wheezing with your head lowered, still on his shoulders. Reaper slowly frees his arm from between your numb, trembling legs and leaves his warmed up hand on your thigh. He’s sitting between your knees, facing you. You feel the owl mask hitting your shoulder as he bends down to you.

“Entertain me some more, mariposa” he says next to your ear. You nod weakly and can only hope that Reaper feels the movement.

You don’t want to let go of him yet – if you could, you would never do it –, but he takes your hand off himself. He weighs you down on the bed and leaves you in the state he put you into: half-consciously, with your pants pulled down and underwear ripped.

“If I see another wound on you, I will cut your arm off.” His voice sounds menacing, even if you can’t see his face because of the mask and the dark. “Did you understand?”

“Yes” you say quietly, but don’t receive an answer.

Next day you get rid of all knives and blades from your room.


End file.
